by Penny Reid
The answer wasn’t to hide from what scared me most, but to call it out, to confront it, to destroy it.
Restless, I extracted myself—slowly, carefully—from Billy’s arms and tiptoed to the bathroom, pausing briefly when I spotted the Hers box that had been left on the bed but that we’d set aside earlier. Snatching it up, I closed the bathroom door and flipped on the light. Once the lid was removed, I found my phone, passport, and wallet, and I took it as a sign.
I knew what I had to do.
Also within the box was a clean outfit of mine; the Winstons had obviously borrowed it just to hide it here. Stripping down to my undies, I mapped out my next moves, what I’d need to do in order to fly back to Nashville as soon as possible, how to get in touch with Simone Payton, how to bring Cletus up to speed without telling him too much and compromising him.
I didn’t want to put him or any of the Winstons in legal jeopardy, but I did need their help if my plan was going to work. We’d band together, as a team, to rescue Billy. We would eliminate the threat of my father and I’d use the Nashville Music Festival as a cover story.
As I was pulling on the clothes from the box, I paused, catching my reflection in the mirror. Specifically, the determined set of my jaw. I didn’t like mirrors. I didn’t like seeing myself, a replica of my disinterested mother staring back at me, marked with my father’s knife.
Billy thinks you’re beautiful.
My attention drifted lower to my stomach and I turned, looking over my shoulder at the scars on my back. They’d faded, but unlike the ones on my arms and legs, they hadn’t responded to the cosmetic laser therapy. Those marks were basically invisible now, enough that I felt comfortable wearing bathing suit bottoms and tank tops. But the ones on my back would never fully disappear.
The whole time I was with Ben, he’d never noticed my scars. We’d been intimate, but always in the dark. He’d barely touched me during or after, and I’d never felt the urge to share the burden of my past with him. He didn’t carry burdens with grace, he didn’t like being needed if it meant giving more than he received. I comprehended that clearly now.
But Billy had seen my back. He’d changed my bandages when I was fourteen, and he must’ve seen them again last night in the shower. Billy had borne my burdens with me. This whole time, he’d carried them silently, and then asked me for more.
Being with Billy now was like coming home to myself, to the person I once was. She was scarred, she’d struggled and lived through dark times. And yet, I’d missed her, her bravery, her fierce fortitude, her sense of justice. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed her until right this moment, on the precipice of confronting my nightmares.
Scarlet St. Claire had been wholly her own person, and she was who Billy saw. She was the woman he considered beautiful, and she was who looked back at me now.
Placing the clothes back on the counter, I pulled off my bra and underwear and set them aside. Returning to the room, I left the bathroom door open to allow light to fill the space. I climbed back in the bed and moved as close to my handsome man as possible. I then creeped on him for a few minutes, watching him sleep, and I didn’t even feel weird about it. He was mine as assuredly as I was his. We belonged to each other. I comprehended that clearly now too.
Lifting to my elbow, I placed a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then another. Then one on his chin.
“Scarlet,” he muttered, stirring.
I smiled, liking that he associated me with kisses even when he was asleep.
“I need you,” I whispered, kissing his lips fully this time, sliding my hand beneath his undershirt to feel the beguiling form and shape of him, the hair on his chest, the solid muscles beneath.
Billy started, his eyes blinking open, still dazed with sleep. I witnessed the exact moment I came into focus. He reached for me, groan-growling when he discovered I was naked.
“Scarlet,” he rasped between slow, dragging kisses. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”
“It’s not a dream.”
“Then touch me.” He encircled my wrist, redirecting my palm to the front of his pants, encouraging me to unbutton his fly and reach inside. A thrill raced up my arm at the bold contact and my stomach twisted with lovely heat. While he rolled me onto my back, his mouth lowering to love my breasts, his big hand caressing and then spreading my legs, he came alive in my hand. Hard and ready, his hips rolled, mimicking his seductive movements from last night.
But his undershirt was still on and I wanted his skin. I wanted all of him.
Gently lifting from the bed and shifting his palm to my breast, I rose to my knees, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and tugged it up and off. He allowed it, but then he was on top of me again, pushing me back, rising above to divest himself of his pants and boxers.
Bracing on one arm, he used his knee to gently nudge mine apart while gliding his palm from my hip, over my stomach, my ribs, higher, his movements slow, almost dreamlike. He watched his hand on my body and my instinctual responses to all his touches.
This was so different from last night. Last night had been a starved frenzy. But now he took his time toying with me, moving his thigh between my open legs, applying both friction and pressure. My need built. My hand became grasping while he continued his tender touches, lovingly licking and sucking my breasts, my neck, my ear, like I was a buffet of fine foods to be sampled.
“I need you,” I panted, shivering, my toes pointing reflexively, my body tensing with anticipation. “Please.”
I felt his smile at my neck as he replaced his thigh with his fingers, petting me, cupping me. “I love it when you say please. So polite.” He bit me, soothing the spot with a lick as his fingers mimicked the swirl of his tongue.
He liked me saying please? Okay then.
“Please,” I repeated, trying to reach for him. “Please.”
I felt the change in him, the stiffening of his muscles in his stomach and sides. Finally, he settled between my open legs, gripping himself and capturing my mouth with a kiss as he filled me in one fluid stroke. I shivered again, pushing my head against the bed, my back arching, stretching at the vital invasion.
“Say thank you.” His voice was gruff as he moved, his hips rolling rather than thrusting, rubbing the most crucial part of my anatomy with each sliding stroke.
I moaned instead of saying thank you, gasping, beyond words. I could only feel, the texture of his rough, hot skin, his hard body, his hand on me, plucking and rolling my nipple. The warm, heavy ache between my legs intensified, coiled until I entirely lost my grip on self-possession, spiraling.
Abruptly, he lifted to his knees, his hands bracketing my hips and lifting me, his stare hungrily moving over my face as I lost myself to the pleasure of it. I closed my eyes, my body bowing as I came apart, and still he moved.
Tremors fading, my lashes fluttered open and I found his gaze—dazed and hot and greedy—waiting for me. His eyes trailed to my chest, stomach, and finally to where he entered me. Sliding one hand to the front of my hip, he rubbed a circle around my clitoris with his thumb, causing my breath to hitch as my body coiled anew with sudden sharpness.
Grabbing the sheets in my mindlessness, searching for purchase, I splintered once more, the pain of it matched only by the pleasure. Vaguely, I was aware that this time he also lost himself, lying on top of me, his mouth fastening to mine as his hips jerked, thrusting roughly, filling me completely.
“I love you.” The words burst from him as he gathered and crushed me against his chest, rolling us to the side. “Marry me, please. Marry me.”
He sounded so lost, so vulnerable. Even in the aftermath of my bliss, the sound of his plea squeezed my heart, sobering the intoxication of the moment and solidifying my decision to rescue him. Pushing against his chest to wiggle free, I captured his face in my hands, holding his gaze intently so he could see the clarity in mine.
“I will marry you. You will be my husband, I will be your wife. And I will keep you safe.”<
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He blinked, as though my words startled him. Or perhaps he hadn’t realized he’d expressed his hopes out loud.
So I added, “But first you have to ask me twenty-four hours after we make love, when I’m convinced you’re thinking straight.”
A surprised, joyous looking smile split his face, his gaze suddenly sharp, but then he frowned just as suddenly. “We didn’t use a condom.”
I laughed, shaking my head and kissing his lips. “No. We didn’t. And I might get pregnant. And we haven’t talked about whether that’s something you want.”
“It is. But is it something—”
“Yes. With you, yes.” I placed featherlight kisses over his eyes, but when I leaned back, he was still frowning.
“I don’t want you to feel rushed,” he said solemnly, his gaze searching, his arms tightening around my body.
“Are you kidding? Was that a joke?”
A hint of a grin softened his features, but his tone turned thoughtful. “I keep telling myself there’s no rush, we should take our time, get to know each other as we are now.”
Unable to stay the impulse, I leaned forward and nibbled on his ear, whispering, “How’s that been going for you?”
“Not well.” His voice was gravel, his hands sliding down to my bottom. “I don’t know how to be cautious with you.”
That made me smile.
“We’ll add it to the list of items to discuss. Go back to sleep.” I turned, snuggling my back against his front as he nuzzled my ear.
“You got what you wanted, and now you let me sleep? Is that it?” he asked with obvious humor and affection.
“Yes. But I reserve the right to wake you if additional services are required.”
He laughed, a deep, rumble of a sound, tickling my ribs with one hand and holding me hostage with the other. “Good,” he whispered hotly against my ear, palming my breast. “I live to be of service.”
My body liked the sound of that, and my heart loved the smile in his voice. It was my brain that broke up the party, reminding me why I needed Billy to sleep.
He’d put everything on the line for me time and time again, risked his safety, his freedom, his health, his soul. He’d said his actions and decisions to save me from Razor had been for himself and now I finally understood. It wasn’t a debt to repay. He loved me, and so Billy had done whatever it took to keep me safe.
I couldn’t let him go to jail. What I was about to do was for myself. I love him, and I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
“Sleep time,” I whispered, forcing my body to relax.
He kissed my shoulder, and I felt him shift, arrange himself in a comfortable position all the while keeping hold of me. I waited until his breathing evened. I waited until he was asleep again. And then I waited a half hour longer, listening to him, feeling the press of his body, memorizing it.
Then I stood, showered, dressed, grabbed my phone, passport, and wallet, and wrote Billy a quick note before I left.
* * *
Dear Billy,
I was invited to perform at the Nashville Music Festival, but I was too afraid to commit. You’ve made me brave, your strength inspires me to be brave, and so I’ve decided to go. I couldn’t sleep, and if I want to make it on time I have to leave now.
I’ll meet you in Rome at the end of the week and we’ll pick up exactly where we left off (i.e. you naked, me naked, provision of services, etc.). Here’s a haiku to see you through:
* * *
Past, present, future.
I’ll never regret any
Moment loving you.
* * *
-Love, Scarlet
Chapter Twenty-One
*Claire*
“He lay back, put his arm over his eyes, and tried to hold onto the anger, because the anger made him feel brave. A brave man could think. A coward couldn't.”
Stephen King, Misery
“Cletus.”
“Scarlet?”
“Did I wake you?” I glanced around me, mollified by all the empty seats surrounding my chair at the airport. Still, I made certain to keep my volume low so as not to be overheard.
“No. I was just waking up.” His scratchy voice told me he was lying.
But I didn’t have time be polite. “I need to talk to you about something very important. I need your help.”
Without hesitating, and sounding much more alert, he said, “Proceed.”
“I’m at the airport, about to fly back to Nashville.” I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t wish to expose him or Simone or anyone else to unnecessary risk. “I don’t know how many details you—uh—know about that night Billy rescued Simone and Roscoe at the diner, but the FBI are investigating Billy for assaulting my father while he was unconscious. They think Billy cut his hands.”
Now Cletus did hesitate before asking, “Did Billy tell you he cut Razor’s hands?”
“Did he tell you?” I countered.
He was quiet for a beat, like this question was a riddle. “No. He hasn’t talked to me about it and I didn’t ask him, but I suspect.” His voice reminded me of Billy’s, so stark, resigned. “I have spoken to Simone about it, however. She gave me a friendly heads-up about the FBI’s investigation. Between you and me, it’s been weighing on my mind.”
“I think I have a plan,” I whispered, tracking a man in a suit as he walked by my seat.
“You have a plan?”
“I do. But I need your help. I need you and Simone to get me in to see my father tomorrow, as soon as I touch down in Nashville.”
“Scarlet. No. You will not be exposed to that—”
“Listen to me, just wait a minute and listen. I’m guessing Razor won’t talk to anyone, right? Probably not even his legal team. But he’ll talk to me.”
Cletus made a grumbly grunting noise. “Why on earth would you want to talk to him?”
“I think, if Simone can get me in to see him, I can get Razor to admit he cut his own hands.”
“Wait. You don’t think Billy cut Razor’s hands?”
Choosing my words very carefully, I said, “I think Razor will admit to me that he framed Billy. I think I can then make a statement to the FBI swearing to this as fact. And then I think they’ll drop the investigation and your brother won’t go to jail. That’s what I think.”
I listened as something rustled, then the barest sound of footsteps, then a door close. “I hope you’re happy. I’m now sitting in the bathroom at the butt crack of dawn so Jenn can’t overhear your plan to commit perjury.”
“Who says it’s perjury?”
“Scarlet.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Fine. Fine. Let’s say you go see Razor. Let’s say you swear up and down, left and right that he admitted to framing Billy. Don’t you think it’s suspicious that you’re flying back in town just to meet with your father and exonerate the man you’re in a serious relationship with, about to marry, give birth to a litter of babies, and live happily ever after with for the rest of time?”
Despite the direness of the situation, I couldn’t help my involuntary amusement. If you give Cletus an inch, he’ll take a light-year.
“No. Because I’m not in town to see my father. I’m really there to perform at the Nashville Music Festival. Seeing my father is just a whim, a curiosity. I have no ulterior motive.”
“Oh yeah? Then what about being in a relationship with Billy? You don’t think they’ll see right through your bias?”
“Not if they don’t know Billy and I are together. So far, no one knows. Billy and I will be in Rome and by the time we get back to the States, it’ll all be over. The FBI will already have closed the case, stopped the investigation. Reasonable doubt counts for a lot. That’s also why I was thinking, if Simone could ask one or more of the agents to somehow overhear my side of the conversation, then it wouldn’t just be my word.”
“Those conversations between inmates and visitors are completely private. No one will hear him
unless he agrees to it. You think Razor will agree to letting the FBI listen in on his conversation with you?”
“He doesn’t have to. In fact, it’s better if they don’t hear what he says. But I want them to hear me. I want them to hear what I say. Then no one is lying.”
“Except you.”
“I never said I was going to lie. I simply—”
“Right, right. You think you can get him to admit he cut his own hands.” He grumbled once more, something indistinct, but then said, “Simone speaks highly of that Agent Nelson. She’d make the most sense.”
A flash of hope burst in my chest and I sat up straighter. “Does that mean you’ll help?”
“On the scale from one to ten of the illegal things I’ve done—sorry, allegedly illegal—this is like a three. Maybe even a two point five,” he mumbled. “We can’t let anyone else know what you have planned. I’m not putting Simone or anyone else at peril. We tell everyone you’re there for the festival, but you had a sudden desire to visit dear old dad in prison.”
“No one is in peril—not you, not me—because I’m not doing anything illegal.”
He ignored my statement. “Billy will be fit to be tied when he discovers I let you go face-to-face with that monster.”
“You’re not letting me do anything, Cletus. This is my decision. I’m just asking you to help me get into the prison. That’s all.”
“Even so, Billy isn’t going to like this when he finds out.”
“I know,” I said honestly. “I know he won’t. But Cletus, I couldn’t tell him. You understand that, right?”
“I do.” He sounded tired. “Better than most, I understand it’s sometimes better to ask for forgiveness than permission, especially when it comes to protecting the ones you love. But, after, you have to tell him the truth.”